D R A B B L E S
by Wenny T
Summary: For the DracoHermione lovers. Every chapter is a drabble by itself. M for language
1. William Blake: First Kiss

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**D R A B B L E S**

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**A/N:**

Thus begins a series of drabbles I wrote for the weekly Drabble fests on the BB, of the Dramione pairing. This is strictly for DM/HG lovers only. Every chapter is a sole different drabble by itself-- I've explored with humour, fluff, angst and so on and so forth. Hope you enjoy!

Note: Many thanks to the BB ladies for coming up with so many great quotes.

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The sound of a book dropping onto a table. 

"Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained. William Blake."

A chair screeches.

"Wha—Oh, Mione, it's you. Give me a scare, why don't you? And what are you whinging about now? Something out of Hogwarts: A History again, is that it?"

"I said, 'Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.' It's by William Blake, a lovely Muggle poet, and— _Ronald Weasley_, you bloody git! Are you _even_ listening to me?"

A snicker.

"Don't you dare laugh, Harry; you're just as bad as him! I can never get a word edgewise!"

Sighing from two different mouths.

"Ah, bloody— 'Mione, I'm—wait for a moment, would you? I'll be right there, just—Ha! _Ha_! Checkmate! Ha! Take that, Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Die!"

A sniff.

"You wait, Ron. You just wait. One of these days, I am going to beat your arse at wizard's chess. I'll be_ back_, see if I won't."

Snickers.

"Merlin, Harry, you sound like Whatshisname, that Muggle actor. Swah-egg-her-something."

Hands upon hips and a dragon-like glare.

"You're saying it _all_ wrong, Ron-_ald_, it's _Schwarzenegger_, not swah-egg-something! _Boys_!"

Stomping feet. Whispers.

"Blimey, Harry, what do you s'ppose's gotten into her knickers now?"

Head scratching.

"I don't know Ron… Maybe even Dobby's stopped collecting the clothes she knitted for Spew?"

A hand smacks again the armrest of a chair.

"I can hear the two of you perfectly, you know! I'm not deaf! And it's _S.P.E.W_., not Spew! How many _times_ do I have to repeat that?"

Guilty glances.

"Ah, Mione—"

"Forget it! The two of you are such thickheaded nitwits that you wouldn't notice any differences in your surroundings even if they dance around you in tea cosies! I'm going to _bed_!"

Feet stamp and a door bangs in the distance.

"What's—She's—"

Bemused looks.

"I don't know either, Ron— Look, here comes Neville, maybe—"

Panting. A hand grips the edge of a table.

"Harry! Ron! D-did you know?"

Confusion.

"Know what? Neville, mate, you look red. And where's Trevor? I thought that toad—"

Gasping.

"Neville? Neville. _Neville_, calm down. You're wheezing, here, drink some pumpkin juice—"

The goblet is accepted gracefully.

"Thanks, Harry. It—It shocked every one of us, you know. Never expected _he_ would do that! And—and we certainly didn't expect Hermione to—to—"

Voices sharpen.

"What do you mean, Hermione? Who's the _he_? He's who?"

"Hermione? Did some bloody git do something to her? Was it the _ferret_?"

Sputtering of pumpkin juice.

"It's Malfoy, all right! He _snogged_ her! Right in the middle of the Great Hall! After he said something by someone named William Flake—"

Two voices in sync.

"_What_?"

"Um, it may be Slake, I don't know—"

Hands reach out to grasp shoulders.

"It's William Blake, Neville. What did Malfoy _say_?"

Teeth chatters.

"Um, Harry, I'm not sure, something about desire and restraint—I say, where are you going?"

Slamming of a portrait. In the distance:

"_That bloody ferret_!"

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As always: If you like it, review it. 


	2. Terry Prachett: Death

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**A/N: **

**Like I said before, every chapter is a different scenario, so don't come flaming me, eh?**

**Thanks.**

**This chapter's quote's by Terry Prachett. The first line. And 'tis angst, angst and more angst.**

**Can't blame me... Dramione's one couple where angst works convincingly... Ehehehe.**

**Hope you'll enjoy!**

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No matter how fast light travels it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it****

It hurt so much at first. His body was a screaming wreckage of pain; angry red and clenching darkness engulfing the light.

But all he felt was detachment; it was almost as though the pain was too much for his mind to stand, so it had turned within, and tried to comfort itself –and him- with the memories.

The memories.

Of her laughing. Of her walking. Of her skipping. Of her frowning over her homework. Her forehead wrinkling in concentration as she bent over a cauldron. The way she had looked when he'd pushed her into a snowbank as a joke.

Her.

The pain surged against the barrier his mind had erected; a battling force against crumbling walls. The tips of his fingers turned white as he balled them into fists; his signet ring cutting in his palm. From a distance, he could hear the voices; feel the cool hands upon his forehead.

Rushing, rushing. To where?

He knew that two separate destinations waited; yes, he knew that. He gave her name, requested her presence, but the hands merely flit faster, the voices softer, and the speed at which they were rushing increased.

Why? What was so forbidden about her?

He grew angry. Straining himself to rise, to demand them to bring her to him, for Merlin's sake, he found that he was bound. He grew frenzied.

Grappling, tearing, struggling, shouting.

Nothing happened. Why? Why didn't they stop? Why didn't they bring her to him? _Why_?

So many questions.

His eyelids were heavy, so heavy, but he heaved with all his sapping strength and managed to raise them. All he saw was white—no.

The white was turning; to crimson, to a horrid brown, to black.

_No!_

He forced the blackness back, forced them all back. _Where was she?_

"H—"

He tried to ask them, tried to get their attention. But he'd barely spoken before they'd hushed him again.

"Poor child, such a bright future…"

"…Delirious, that's what he is…"

"…Wouldn't stop asking…"

"…But I thought his wife…"

"…Began with a P, yes, but…"

"…Was his sweetheart…"

"… Back in Hogwarts…"

"…Break-up was forced…"

"…And now he's…"

"…Should we?"

The voices were droning, droning. Why weren't they calling for her?

He just wanted to see her before… before he…

The tides of crimson, of sickly darkness were creeping back. He fought against them, but he was weak.

_No!_

Where was she? He just wanted to—Merlin, the black was sweeping in, its tendrils snaking around him.

He tried to push them away, but they keep coming in. He just wanted to tell her that he lov—

**_

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Here lies_**

**_Draco Malfoy_**

**_1987-2007_**

**_Loving husband and Hero of his people

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_**

She knelt before it and wept, her arms going around the cold, hard stone, pretending that it was the warm body of the boy—and man—who had loved her.


End file.
